The Opposite of Logic
by Angeleyez
Summary: Rory interns the summer before her senior year in New York City. She runs into a familiar face. An unwanted reunion follows. Literati.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: The Opposite of Logic

**Author**: Angeleyez

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Well, a few are mine. But for the most part… I don't own.

**Summary**: Rory interns the summer before her senior year in New York City. She runs into a familiar face. An unwanted reunion follows. (Literati)

**A/N**: If this story seems familiar, it's because you may have read the first two chapters on a different site under a different name ('The Great Fallacies of Human Nature'). All events up to beginning of Season 5 occurred.

Every afternoon without fail, she practically sleepwalked to the subway, exhausted from the long day; she never had enough leftover energy to wander anywhere else. The weekends were for exploration, but even then she didn't leave her apartment without a planned route and a thorough itinerary. She much preferred order to spontaneity, trusting her careful plans to keep her safe and happy. For the past couple of months, it had worked just fine.

But a sense of diminishing time had taken over, leading to this impromptu walk down an unfamiliar street. She had her work jacket slung over her arm, as it was too hot for layers. The August afternoon heat had finally begun to seep into its nights, leading her to tie up her hair in a haphazard bun. A forgotten pencil was stuck behind her ear, her I.D. was attached to her work shirt's pocket, and her tongue still burned from the awful staff room coffee.

A huge sign in a store window caught her eye. It was double the usual poster size, with red lettering bright enough to capture the attention of an onlooker across the street. Stopping to read, she realized it was an advertisement for a sale on ice cream. A very good sale, actually. One that elicited a reaction from her taste buds; her mouth was watering.

The store was tiny and completely ordinary. Located between a pharmacy and a tailor's, it looked to be relatively quiet. She didn't recognize the place, probably having passed it only a few times before. Nevertheless, a quality ice cream sale could not be passed up no matter the painful state of her high heeled feet. Besides, she was determined to experience as much of New York City as she could in the little time she had left.

A tinkling bell announced her presence as she slipped inside, and immediately headed toward the back where – she hoped – the freezer was located. Luckily, her intuition proved correct, and within no time, she was in front of the tons of flavors this small place surprisingly offered. She opened the freezer door, and jumped at the blast of frigid air that immediately began to relieve the sheen of sweat that dotted her forehead. She stood still, enjoying the air as she perused the selection, until a force from behind sent her head first into the ice cream.

"I am _so _sorry," a heavy voice said, as the speaker pulled her into an upright position.

Rory turned to respond, only to find a barrel of a chest at eye level. The man's green t-shirt charitably read '_Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy' _in huge bold letters. Already uncomfortable, she gulped. "It's okay."

"I was backing up, and I didn't see you, and –"

"Really, it's fine," she assured him, craning her neck to meet his eye. His face was as round as it was red, reminding her of an oversized cherry. He even had an Alfalfa going on, a thin sprig of hair to serve as the stem.

"I see you're looking for something to cool you off."

"That I am," she responded.

"Ice cream is an excellent choice. Very cold."

"Yeah, freezing. It's probably why it has 'ice' in the title."

The man let loose a boisterous laugh. Uneasy, she found herself trying to take a step back, but unfortunately, there was nowhere to go.

"Well, I should get back to the, uh, cooling off." She turned back to the freezer.

"I'm looking for some ice cream too. A huge carton of chocolate is what I need to take this heat."

"Chocolate is right over there," she quickly pointed out in her best 'I-need-more-personal-space' voice.

The man thanked her, leering as he did so, and ambled to the next freezer. Seconds later, his voice floated back to her, quieter this time with an out-of-tune flair: "'Cause I saddle up my horse and I ride into the city…'"

She flashed him a dubious glance before returning her eyes to the display.

"'I make a lot of noise cause the girls, they are so pretty…'"

She grabbed a carton of mint chocolate chip, slammed the door shut, and turned on her heel, heading for the front of the store.

The man shouted, falling in step directly behind her. "Hey, I didn't catch your name!"

"I don't have one."

"You don't have a name?" His tone was incredulous.

"My mother thought that giving me a name was like labeling me for life, and she wanted me to grow up free of any barriers," Rory explained, her speed of both speech and movement increasing.

"That's very… free-spirited of her. But what do people call you?"

"Nothing. People usually just point at or poke me. It's kind of tragic. I'm doomed to lifelong therapy because of it." She jumped in line at the nearest cash register, reminding herself that this was exactly why she never wandered off the beaten path.

"That sounds sad."

"It is _very_ sad."

"Well, is there anything I can _call_ you?" he asked, putting a hardened emphasis on the word 'call'.

"You can't –"

"Excuse me, miss?" The female cashier spoke up, as she began to bag the groceries of the elderly gentleman in front of Rory. "There's a free register over there…" She nodded her head in its general direction.

"Oh, thanks."

She made a move to head over, when she heard her male shadow begin to follow.

"Oh, sir? I'll be done in just a moment, why don't you wait right here?" the cashier said.

Rory shot the girl a huge, appreciative smile, and hurried away, leaving her stalker to find new prey to irritate. She reached the checkout just as a customer was paying. Absently, Rory dropped her ice cream on the conveyor belt and checked her watch. After this, she was going _straight_ home.

The customer in front of her finished up, and suddenly it was Rory's turn. She reached into her purse for some cash as a pair of hands swept her purchase across the scanner.

"It's a dollar fifty."

Her head shot up at the voice. Her eyes widened as she took in the too familiar dark-haired boy in front of her. He looked very much the same albeit with shorter hair and a patch of facial hair on his chin that gave him an attractive weathered look. The bored expression did not leave his face as she opened her mouth to respond and failed to come up with a single word.

"It's a dollar fifty," he repeated. "It's two for two bucks if you want to take advantage of the sale. No big deal if you don't."

"Jess, I –"

"Rory, I have customers. Can we do the awkward, heart-wrenching reunion thing later?"

She tensed, dropping the exact change on the counter.

"Paper or plastic?" he asked, handing over her receipt.

"Plastic."

"Thank you for shopping at _Myers_. Have a fantastic day."

She ripped the bag out of his hand, and stormed out the door without looking back.

XxX

"Hey, whoa, Tornado Rory," Amelia said, holding up her hands as if to withstand the force of her roommate.

"They don't name tornadoes. They name hurricanes," Rory pointed out in a very matter-of-fact tone that clashed with her frenzied state as she tore through the kitchen.

"Fine, Hurricane Rory, calm the hell down. What's with you? After work, you usually resemble a creature from that Michael Jackson video."

"There are tons of Michael Jackson videos."

"Only one with flesh-eating zombies."

"That _dance_."

"Well, I was referring to their brain dead, slow movement scene, not the dancing or eating of flesh ones."

Rory overturned the plastic bag that up until this point had been resting on the counter where she had dropped it upon coming home. This was, of course, after she had thrown her keys _at_ the bowl where they were usually kept, and kicked her shoes off in the general direction of the wall. Now, the carton hit the surface with a heavy plop, causing Amelia to raise her eyebrows even further at her roommate's irrational borderline violent behavior toward frozen desserts. In a swirl of crinkly plastic, Rory crumpled up the bag and shoved it underneath the counter where the garbage was kept. She leaned back against the refrigerator as if all of this crazy behavior was an everyday thing.

"Bad day at the office?" Amelia guessed, resting her elbows on the counter. "Or do you suspect that the ice cream is plotting against you?"

"Neither," Rory answered neatly.

"So…"

"I was nearly molested by a cowboy."

"The Naked Cowboy?" Amelia asked eagerly.

"No, the huge perverted one that likes to hang out in grocery stores and push unsuspecting girls into freezers."

"Ouch. No wonder you're acting like a crazy bitch. Why don't you sit down… eat some ice cream… stay the hell away from me?"

Rory ignored the girl and began to rummage through the cabinets for a bowl. She was fond of her roommate in the way only forced living arrangements could bring about, but the two were by no means good friends. They weren't even the Paris & Rory definition of friends (the early years, mind you, when the two were still out to get each other). Amelia and Rory were simply two girls in a small shoebox apartment who happened to attend Yale together.

Finding no clean bowls anywhere in sight, Rory slammed the cabinet door shut.

The noised startled Amelia, making her jump. "You really need to calm down."

"And you really need to start doing the dishes when it's your turn. We have no more than three plates, but bowls? We have thousands! Where are they?" Rory asked, suddenly finding her repressed _everything_ bubbling up within her.

"I had Brian over today." For a moment, Amelia donned the dreamy, stars-in-her-eyes expression that Rory had come to hate. The only things missing from the scene were the popping cartoon hearts floating around Amelia's head. "He got hungry, and…"

"Fine." Rory grabbed a spoon out of the silverware drawer along with the ice cream off the counter, and whisked her way into the living room. She fell back onto the couch.

"Hey! I wanted some of that," Amelia whined, watching as Rory dug her way into the already melting dessert. When there was no answer, Amelia sighed and dropped into the adjacent armchair. "Sorry, I forgot I'm not the one who was molested by a cowboy today."

"It's not entirely that," Rory admitted.

"Were there two cowboys?"

"Enough about the cowboys! I…" She shoved a huge spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, feeling very much like a heartbroken teenager. The realization made her sick. She was an adult, damn it! "I ran into an ex-boyfriend."

"Double ouch," Amelia said. "How long have you two been broken up?"

"A little over three years."

"Oh my god, Rory! Three years? Isn't that sufficient time for the awkwardness and hate to fade? Unless…" She lowered her voice and leaned forward. "Unless you're still hung up on him."

"I am not still hung up on him!" Rory glared at her roommate. "It's just… our break-up? Was messy. Like, really, really messy. Imagine the world post a nuclear bomb attack."

"You're exaggerating."

"I wish I were," Rory mumbled, digging further into the carton. "It was just weird seeing him again. And it was uncomfortable. And he was kind of an asshole, although I should be used to that by now." She rubbed her forehead, as if trying to ward off the headache that was this infuriating boy.

Amelia stretched, throwing her feet up on the coffee table. "You're not going to launch into a story about your tumultuous relationship, are you?"

"No, I'll spare you." Rory dropped her spoon inside the carton, where it sank into the softening ice cream.

"Good. Now, why don't you go get some sleep?"

"It's seven-thirty."

"You look tired," Amelia unhelpfully pointed out.

"You're not eating my ice cream. I went through a lot to buy this."

"I'm not going to touch your ice cream! But Brian's coming over again, and…"

"Ew," said Rory, getting to her feet. "Leave it there." She deposited her spoon in the sink, determined not to give in and clean the continuously piling up dishes. She stowed her carton in the freezer.

"I'd put some loud music on if I were you," Amelia warned.

With one last look of disgust, Rory closed herself off in her bedroom. She peeled off her work clothes, now thoroughly stuck to her skin. It was stifling in her room, so she opened the window, careful not to give any neighboring buildings a show. She flipped on the radio and turned it to a suitable volume which would block most everything out, but wouldn't give the people next door a reason to complain. With nothing left to do, she grabbed her latest read off her nightstand and climbed into bed, determined not to think about the level of pathetic-ness that was getting into bed before eight o' clock at night, or the fact that the impossible had occurred and she and Jess had finally crossed paths again after two years.

She would not dwell on this. More than likely, she would never see him again. After all, she would have to be crazy, no, downright _insane_, to head back down to that grocery store and seek him out.

XxX

"Jess?" The man scratched his chin. It had taken some effort for Rory to finally find this man after asking several of the cashiers when Jess worked, only to have them shrug and tell her that no one by that name worked here. After the repeated dead ends, she had finally asked to see the manager before she realized how absolutely batty she was acting. Now she was fully aware of the weirdness that was coming off her in waves. She didn't even want to see Jess again, yet she had already been in the store a half hour, asking around for him! It was the heat; it had to be the mind-melting heat.

It quickly became apparent that this man was going to be no help. Rory had already repeated Jess's name three times for him, and the only reaction it had elicited was an echoing of the name, and then his leaning forward in a pseudo Rodin's Thinker position. Rory was three seconds from running out the door and down the street, back to the hectic scene that was her workplace. Her lunch break's remaining time was quickly dwindling and the fact that she was even _here_ instead of sipping palatable coffee was still hard for her brain to accept.

"We have a Joe," the man finally decided.

"Oh."

"And a Jeremy. We even have this Jewish kid named Jason, but everyone calls him Jewson." His eyes suddenly bugled out of his head, and he held up his hands in defense. "He likes being called that though. He thought of the name himself! We don't discriminate against religion here at _Myers_," he explained with a tentative smile. "You're not Jewish, are you?"

"No, no, I'm not. It's just… he has dark hair," Rory explained. "Brown eyes. He scowls a lot, and uses sarcasm as a means of communication…" She trailed off, searching her head for what else she could use to describe him. This was strange though. Here where every employer seemed to know everyone else by name, _someone _should have caught on by now. Maybe Jess hadn't been here yesterday. Maybe he had been an unfortunate mirage brought on by a sudden heat stroke. Maybe she should be happy about this. After all, why did she even want to see him?

"Olive skin," she finally came up with. "He looks Italian."

"Oh! That quiet Italian kid! Yeah, Eric."

"Eric?" Rory repeated dumbly.

"Wait. Eric… blonde, blue-eyed, talks way too much… Do we have two Eric's?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Hmph. I must be confusing one with the other."

"So, no Jess. Just a case of two Eric's?" Rory asked.

"Sorry, miss."

"You know what? It's okay. It's more than okay. Thank you very much." She shook the man's hand, surprising the hell out of him, before turning and walking at a leisurely pace out of the store. She was cured now! The nagging feeling that she had woken up with this morning was beginning to disperse. There was no need to find Jess. Everything had ended between them years ago, when she had said no and he had walked away. There was nothing left for them to talk about, no reason for them to try to cross the gap that had been growing in their years apart. The bridge connecting them had been burned years ago. And it was destroyed by him when he disappeared time and time again, never giving her a reason why.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Working as an intern was a strange existence. She was there to give up free labor in return for the knowledge she garnered from around the office. However, she never had _time_ to learn anything that would change her whole perspective on the media business and help her grow into the unstoppable reporter she one day hoped to become. She was too busy fetching coffee, making copies, and answering phones for men and woman seated directly in front of the ringing telephone. She was the lowest of the low on the totem pole of the business world; she wasn't even qualified to be here yet.

"Rory!"

She was in mid-bend when her name was suddenly called out. The unexpected voice spooked her, causing the arm full of papers she had picked up to slip right out of her grasp as she jumped into an upright position. With a helpless look, she watched the papers hit the ground, scattering around her feet. They had been in an order, she reminded herself. An order that she didn't know.

"That's… bad," the voice behind her remarked.

"Thank you for the assessment, Rob," Rory replied icily.

She bent down to grab the papers, conscious of the eyes glued to her backside. After only three days of working here, Rory had dubbed Rob the King of all Jackasses. His favorite pastime was to push her buttons by assigning her the most mundane tasks before criticizing her lack of skill. She pegged his behavior as immaturity, his playground tactic of flirting with her. But she refused to show signs of weakness or irritation. No matter what, she was ecstatic that she was working at _The New York Observer_, and nothing was going to deter her happiness. Besides, she didn't even have that much time left.

"Let me help you with that," Rob said, kneeling down beside her. Her mouth dropped open in surprise but he was too busy gathering the paperwork to notice. As he handed her the pile, his fingers brushed hers, but he expressed neither a smile nor lewd remark. It was almost a pleasant interaction.

She stood up with him following suit. "Thanks," she mumbled, puzzled by his actions.

"Yeah, well, my fault."

She blinked at him, stunned at his readiness to admit error. Rob was the type of guy who was right all the time. The fact that he was the boss's son added to his indisputable frame of mind. The only reason he even had this job at this green age of twenty-five was thanks to his father.

"Going to send those out?" he asked.

"I am."

"Great, I'm headed down too."

He led the walk to the elevator, and she fell in step behind him, head down. Every few seconds, she glanced over the top of her papers to eye his shoes and make sure she wasn't going to hit anyone, but for the most part, she was trying to decipher the hidden order that this paperwork was supposed to be in. She had collected it from Cathy, a girl who could never find the pen she had stuck behind her ear, but always kept her files in a precise order. An order that very few understood.

Rob came to an abrupt halt in front of the elevator, causing Rory to crash into him from behind. Embarrassed, she quickly sidestepped him and took her place at his right. She was beet red as he studied her. She fixed her eyes straight ahead, mentally begging one of the doors to open.

"Is there something I could help you with?" Rob asked with a hint of childish amusement. Bastard.

"I can't figure out how to get these papers back in order," she reluctantly admitted, showing him the pile.

He wagged his finger at her disapprovingly. "Come on, Rory. Numerical order is quite important in the newspaper business. The media business in general, really. Actually, I'm almost positive proper counting skills are needed for any basic job."

She bit her tongue before she said something that would cause her immediate dismissal. "They belong to Cathy."

"Oh." He paused. "You do have to share her enlightened understanding of the world before you see things the way she does." He held out a hand. "Here, let me see."

He began to reorganize the stack for her, continuing the job even as they stepped onto the elevator. He was so consumed with it that for a couple of seconds, the ride was entirely silent. For that, Rory was supremely grateful.

"So, do you have an elevator list?" he unexpectedly asked, shoving the papers back into her arms.

Rory looked up at him. "Excuse me?"

"You _know_." He grinned. "An elevator list. A list of people you'd have guilt free sex with in an elevator if it ever became stuck?"

Her jaw dropped. "What kind of question is that?"

"A creative one."

"A borderline sexual harassment one," Rory shot back. She liked to think that in the years since her high school career she had grown bolder, even unapologetically blunt when she had to be. She was still fairly shy, but she could stand up for herself.

Rob slinked closer to her; she took an unconscious step back. "You think I'm hitting on you?"

Uh, yeah she thought he was hitting on her. Not only did she refuse to flirt with him, but she also avoided smiling lest she become the star of his wet dreams. "I think you treat me differently than any other intern here."

"Rory, I do _not _play favoritism."

"Trust me, I wasn't trying to nail you for that."

"Nail me?"

She tightened her grip on the paperwork, mashing them against her chest. "Would you please stop?"

The elevator opened on the ground floor, marking the end of her irritated question. She was about to give Rob a haughty goodbye so she could go off and do her _job_, when she was brought up short by the sight of the person waiting to board the elevator.

Jess sauntered on with a smug expression on his face. The look provoked violent urges within her, but somehow, she restrained herself.

"Going up," Jess announced.

"Getting off," Rob returned. He stepped off, putting out a hand to hold the doors. "Rory?" he asked.

"She's going up too," Jess replied for her.

Rob cocked his head to the side. "Excuse me?"

"Up," Jess repeated. "Now if you could just take a step back…"

Dumbly, Rob moved backwards and without another word, the doors shut.

"Are you stalking me?" Jess immediately asked, spinning around to look at her.

"Stalking _you_!" The air seemed too thin now with Jess standing too close and Rob's aftershave lingering behind. She jerked a hand through her hair, roughly pulling it behind her ears as she tried to curb her urge to flee. But she had nowhere to go. "I'm not the one who suddenly showed up at your place of work."

He shook his head. "You were at _Myers_ yesterday, right? Asking cashiers and the _manager_ when I worked. You were trying to get my hours so you could 'casually' bump into me."

"I was not!" She shifted her paperwork to her other hand; the weight had become too much. "I just wanted to know when you worked so maybe we could do that 'awkward, heart-wrenching reunion thing' you sounded so excited about."

"I didn't come here to start a fight with you."

"No, you came here to accuse me of stalking you." She sighed, turned and hit a button on the panel. They hadn't been moving for the past minute. "How did you even know I worked here? At least I accidentally ran into you."

"You were wearing your badge," he pointed out, tugging on the lamented picture ID that hung from her shirt pocket.

"You looked?"

"It was staring me in the face."

"You looked and you memorized the name, so you could come here." He had wanted to find her again, just in case. He had wanted to talk to her like she had wanted to speak to him. She wondered if he had reasons for it, had a conversation lined up. Or maybe he was as lost as she was.

"I was curious," he defended himself. He paused, and then said, "You didn't graduate yet."

"School?" she asked, startled by the swift change in subject. "No, I'm going into my last year. I'm an intern," she explained. "I'm gathering valuable real world knowledge."

"Huh. And how's that going?"

By this point, she was frowning, wanting to distance herself from him in this impossibly small place. "Can we not do this?"

"Do what? I asked you a question," Jess said.

She didn't understand how he could do this; wipe away the past few years so effortlessly. "Can we not pretend to have a normal conversation?"

The elevator came to a halt and the doors opened, giving Rory her necessary escape route.

"I have work," she said, mustering up her most flippant tone.

"Rory, could you not…" He followed her into the office and was immediately met with a burst of activity. Dozens of voices overlapped one another as reports were discussed and phones were answered. A synchronized team of printers went off nearby as more and more people appeared from all sides of the room. Jess dodged a mail cart and nearly ran into a woman blinded by a stack of paperwork. He took a quick step toward Rory, overwhelmed by the concentrated mass of chaos in such a small place. The only thing that unnerved him more was that Rory didn't even flinch. She was at _home _here.

Before he could wander too far in, Rory whipped around and began to walk him back toward the elevator. "You can't be here right now." Her eyes were clearly on his casual jeans and _The Clash_ t-shirt. It was obvious he was out of place.

She backed him up until he hit the now closed elevator doors. Blindly, she swiped at the button until she finally pressed one. The doors opened, but Jess refused to budge.

"Come on, Jess, you'll get me in trouble." She glanced over at her shoulder, anxiously searching for any onlookers.

He grabbed her wrist. "I just want to know now why you came looking for me."

"I don't…" She trailed off, unable to formulate an actual answer to give him. She didn't even know herself why she had gone back to find him. There had been this feeling, this _need_ to see him, talk to him. "I don't know." She shrugged and looked away, her eyes sweeping across her feet, her paperwork, and the water cooler that sat directly to her left. His thumb was still on her pulse.

"That's not good enough."

"Too bad." She put a hand on his chest, and gave him a gentle push backwards. It was strange, touching him again after so long. His body heat left a tingly impression on the palm of her hand.

He took a step back into the confines of the elevator and pressed the number for the ground floor.

"It's okay that you did," he told her just as the doors closed between them, dropping him back out of her life.

>

In comparison to yesterday evening, she was much calmer. More than anything, she felt sullen and maybe even a small, _tiny_ bit sad. Jess's visit had left her confused and stressed, and he had only been there a total of five minutes.

To counteract the quickly spreading uneasiness, Rory dug out a spoon and once again turned to her ice cream. As she began to weave through the meager contents of the freezer, she did her best to ignore the wallowing theme that accompanied her snack.

After a thorough search, she came up with nothing. Confused, she repeated her hunt and yet again was disappointed. With an irritated sigh, she pulled out the garbage can kept beneath the sink, and sure enough, at the very top of the pile was her empty carton. She wasn't sure what infuriated her more: the fact that it had been eaten, or the fact that her roommate hadn't even tried to hide it. Amelia had left evidence in the most obvious place!

"You promised you wouldn't!" Rory called out, shoving the garbage back in. She slammed the cabinet door shut, and turned to find her roommate standing in the entrance to the kitchen, a look of perplexity on her face.

"What'd I do now?" Amelia groaned, miles past fed up with Rory's anal behavior.

"You ate my ice cream."

"You do realize that you sound like you're five, right?"

"It was mine!"

Amelia leaned forward to rest her elbows on the counter, as if this was a casual conversation. "Okay, now I'd say four. You're regressing, Rory."

"I just wish you would stop using and eating my stuff! You've done this since the beginning of the summer. My make-up, my clothes, my laptop…"

"And your ice cream. My God, the world is surely ending."

Rory had to restrain herself from lunging across the counter. Her only comfort was the multitude of vengeful scenes that began to play out in her head. The past couple of weeks had been so busy and overwhelming, the last thing she needed was a petulant roommate. But that was what she kept getting!

"Look, Brian got a little hungry, and…" Amelia shrugged as if it had been completely out of her hands.

"A little? That man is like the plant from _Little Shop of Horrors_. If you're not careful, he's going to eat you."

The side of Amelia's mouth twitched as her eyebrows shot up behind the cover of her bangs. Rory immediately winced in disgust.

"I did _not_ mean it like that."

"Well, it was all a matter of wording…"

"You're gross."

"And you're such a prude!" Amelia exclaimed.

"I am _not_. We simply have different standards of decency."

"No, I know what this is about. Built-up sexual frustration." Amelia nodded knowingly as she settled on the couch. "You're upset because you haven't gotten any all summer! Wait, you haven't since… what was his name? Logan? No, he was the one before…"

"Could you refrain from discussing my love life while I'm standing right here? I'm not even sure how you know all this."

"Andrew! That was his name," Amelia continued as if Rory wasn't even there. "Logan came before him, and then… well…" Amelia trailed off, surprisingly showing an ounce of discomfort. This was the girl who had been known to have phone sex within Rory's earshot; discomfort was not part of her programming.

"What?" Rory asked.

"There was this rumor that you and this… married guy…"

Rory's eyes widened. Over two years later, and she was still being reminded of it. A wave of heat crept over her back, leaving her sweltering within her work suit. She was certain Amelia could see the red in her face; a shade of embarrassment and regret.

"I've done some pretty wild stuff but I never… with a married guy?"

"How long have you been waiting to ask me about this?" Rory asked with unmasked disgust.

"Just tell me…" Amelia bit her lip, leaning over the arm of the couch. "Did he take off the ring?"

And with that final question, Rory turned, grabbed her keys and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

>

Her face was still flushed despite the cool evening she had stepped into. She didn't notice the weather or her surroundings, as her mind narrowed to the singular event of her first time two years ago. Reflecting back on it now, she could easily name a hundred things that were wrong with that night. She could cite reasons and misconceptions and erroneous beliefs; she could recall exactly how hard she fell.

As she made her way through a crowded corner, she finally noticed where she was unconsciously heading. The realization was enough to purge her mind of all its unpleasantries. Instead, she could only concentrate on how ridiculous she was acting.

It was her third time at _Myers_ in two days. She would be their top customer if she ever purchased anything.

She made a move to go inside then promptly turned toward home. She spun around again, took two steps forward, a step back, and froze. _The spastic polka_, she remembered her mother saying.

Forget this. She would no longer demean herself by hopping back and forth between the entrance to a grocery story and the sidewalk outside. She didn't have to go home just because she couldn't make up her mind about what in the world she was doing, thinking, or feeling; she could simply wander around the city. There were plenty of places to go, and she bet all of them were more fascinating than a crummy shop.

Before she made it a full yard away from the store, she spun around with a fierce determination and stormed over to the front entrance. She barely managed to sidestep the person coming out, and instead slammed her right shoulder into the door.

This was a sign.

"Wow. I did not see you," the man remarked as Rory rubbed her sore spot.

"No one ever does," she mumbled.

She took a step to the right so she could go around him, but unfortunately, he simultaneously mirrored her movement. She tried to go the other way; he did too. Both paused and regrouped. She was about to try to go to the left again when she noticed the nametag hanging haphazardly off his t-shirt.

"Eric," she read.

"Yeah."

With this new bit of information, she took a better look at him, noting his blue eyes and blond hair.

"Eric," she repeated.

"_Yeah_," he replied. Again. This time with a hint of frustration. Ten-hour shifts left him irritated and exhausted; he only wanted to get out of here.

"Is there another Eric that works with you?"

"No, I'm the only one."

"No dark haired Italian boy?" she queried. "Your manager thinks there are two of you."

He rubbed the bridge of her nose, irritated with her continual questioning. "Wait." He pointed at her, letting the pieces fall together. "You're the leggy brunette who came looking for me."

"Pardon?" She stumbled over the word, mentally preoccupied with the term 'leggy', before remembering what she wanted to say. "I wasn't looking for you."

His frustration lessened as he realized there was a point to conversation. "You were looking for Jess."

Finally, fortune had smiled upon her! "You know Jess?"

"I'm a friend of his," Eric explained. "You're trying to get in contact with him?"

"Yeah."

"Give me your number and I'll have him call you."

"Give you my number?" she echoed.

"Don't give me that suspicious look. I'll have you know brunettes aren't my type. I prefer redheads; they're friskier."

Rory gave him her strangest look, wondering why people were always ready to offer up more information than needed. At least that flaw had often helped her when she was writing for the newspaper at school. "O-kay."

"I know Jess, I promise. He _will_ get your number."

When Rory still looked tentative (most likely caused by the illicit redhead comment), Eric offered up, "Mariano, right? Skinny as a chick… not much taller than one? Doesn't talk much and when he does, it's to insult you?"

With that, Rory accepted the pen and crumpled receipt from Eric and neatly printed her phone number. After he left, she found herself oddly calmed, and decided to head down the street back to her apartment.

>

Later that night, the phone rang, distracting Amelia from her current mind-numbing task of watching TV. She glanced over at the coffee table from her recumbent position on the couch. She had absolutely no interest in sitting up and answering the call, but it seemed that she would have no choice. There was no answering machine, and Rory was still in the shower.

With a heavy sigh to express her great sacrifice, she got up and grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi."

"Who is this?" she asked.

"Who's this?"

She frowned. "Amelia."

There was a pause. "As in Bedelia?"

"Nice one, asshole."

She hung up and threw the phone at the opposite end of the couch. It barely skimmed the armrest before taking a nosedive. Amelia grimaced as it collided with the hardwood floor. She cursed Rory's refusal to buy an area rug.

Catlike, she crawled across the couch and peeked over the side. She was reaching toward the phone to check how badly it was damaged when it rang again. She swore in surprise.

"What?" she snapped, bringing the phone to her ear.

"I probably shouldn't have insulted you within the first ten seconds of conversation. I should have given you a minute, at least."

"I'm counting to five and then I'm hanging up."

"Is Rory there?"

"Who is this? FYI, your answer will predict the outcome of this conversation."

"This is Jess."

"I don't know any Jess."

"That's because I'm not calling for you," he said reasonably. "Is Rory there?"

"Hold on."

Amelia jumped up and knocked on the bathroom door. Rory answered clad only in a towel; her hair was sopping wet.

"There's a jackass on the phone for you," Amelia calmly explained. "He also goes by the name of Jess."

Rory blushed as if by some miracle Jess could see her through the phone. She pulled the towel tighter around her before grabbing the phone from her roommate and shutting the door in her face. Sitting on the closed toilet seat, she took a deep breath.

"Hello?"

"Your roommate is unstable."

"I'm aware."

"You gave Eric your number."

"No, I gave Eric my number for _you_. Apparently, I'm not his type."

"So you're not going to deny your attempt to contact me this time," he stated. "Huh."

"No, I'm not. I even hunted Eric down. First I found him, then I ran after him down the street. He tried to ditch me once or twice by darting through an alley, but – " She stopped. "You called."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Why did you leave your number?"

She stubbornly stayed quiet; he followed her lead.

After the silence went on too long, she said, "Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm kind of sitting in a towel in my bathroom. I need to go…" She trailed off.

"Oh, yeah."

He cleared his throat, and she thought he sounded just a bit uncomfortable. She tried to picture him squirming. The only image that surfaced was a younger version of him, back in the diner; crazy hair, jaded eyes, and a familiar mischievous glint. In her mind's eye, he smirked at her, and she had to wonder, was that still him?

"Will you call again?"

He hesitated before answering. She noticed.

"Yeah."

"Okay," she nodded to herself. "I'll talk to you soon."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Rory crossed her legs before promptly uncrossing them. She had no idea what was proper in this situation. She didn't have a table to hide her lower half or a view of how anyone else was sitting. No one was paying attention to her, but if someone looked over, she didn't want to be caught with her skirt ridden up, and too much thigh showing. She was a respectable intern and this was the first time she was allowed to sit in on a meeting of the editors and staff writers. This was big stuff.

With a pen in hand, she hunched over a clipboard, ready to take notes. Hidden in her purse was a tape recorder, so she could replay this later. Only two days remained in her internship, and she doubted she would have this opportunity again. She didn't want to miss a thing.

Across the room, Rob waved at her, a smug smile stretched across his face. She glowered in the most unprofessional way.

"Simon Doonan? Where the hell is Simon?" A gruff shout demanded from the head of the table. The voice belonged to an overweight man of about sixty, with snow white hair and a thick upper lip that overpowered its bottom counterpart. With his pudgy jowls and no-nonsense demeanor, he reminded Rory of Don Vito Corleone. The only thing missing was a strategically placed cat.

"He's out sick today, sir," a petite blonde answered.

"Well, when he gets better, tell him he better get his act together or _Simon Says_ will be replaced by _Ida Insists_."

An array of snorts and chuckles broke out among the table, muffled behind hands and cups of coffee. The Don was not pleased.

"Would changing a section that has been part of the _Observer_ for years really be the best move? I mean, Simon just put out a new book, and it's doing exceptionally well, and – " At the boss's frown, the man tried to change tactics. "_Ida Insists_ doesn't really have the same ring as _Simon Says_ does. There's no cute play on a familiar game and…" The man trailed off, defeated.

The Don shrugged. "It's still alliteration. Plus, it'd be written by a woman, a fresh perspective. Maybe the paper needs a change. And if Doonan's book is doing so well, then he can't need this job all that much, can he?"

"Look, Dad – " Rob cleared his throat, trying to cover up his slip. Rory hid her smile behind the clipboard. "Mr. Cambridge," Rob amended. "We shouldn't make any decisions until Simon returns to work. He's out with a high fever, and we really should cut him some slack."

Mr. Cambridge stroked his double chin before acquiescing to his son's request. "Fine. He better be back within the week though. I still managed to make deadlines when I was in recovery for triple bypass surgery."

Rory rolled her eyes at the obvious display of favoritism. A male employee coughed "Daddy's boy" into his hand. Rob scowled.

"On to the next order of bus– what is that?" Mr. Cambridge asked as the digitalized version of Frankie Goes to Hollywood's "Relax" began to play. Rory's eyes widened as she recognized the digitalized sound as the ring her mother had programmed into her cell phone. Lorelai had thought it useful for when her daughter became too stressed and needed a good laugh. Rory gulped.

"Is that someone's cell phone?" Mr. Cambridge demanded.

Discreetly, Rory picked up her purse and set it on top of her clipboard. She slipped her hand inside and attempted to feel her way to the end button. In the corner of the room, removed from the meeting, she hoped no one would notice her actions.

"Miss Gilmore, is that _your_ phone ringing?" Rob asked, an amused quality to his tone.

"I, uh, if you'll just excuse me…" Rory jumped up and fled from the room.

"Completely unprofessional, that girl," Rob commented, shaking his head.

-

Rory locked the stall and banged her head against the door in frustration. Gingerly, she touched her face, feeling the burn of humiliation on her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering how she'd ever step foot in the office again. More than likely, everyone would forget what she looked like, and she would become a symbol rather than a person, a faceless annoyance: the inappropriate intern. However, Rob would remember. He'd be sure to rub it in again and again.

Grabbing her phone, she dropped her purse and clipboard onto the ground. She checked the missed call list and an unfamiliar number appeared on the screen. With a frown, she called the person who had doomed her to an embarrassing end to an otherwise unproductive internship.

"Yeah?" the person answered.

"Jess?" Rory asked. "You're the one who called?"

"Oh yeah, that was me."

"You're unbelievable! What were you thinking?" Rory demanded.

"That you told me to call you again?"

"Oh." How logical of him. "Sorry. I just… never mind. How'd you get this number?"

"I called your apartment and your roommate gave it to me," he replied. "Shouldn't she be at work?"

"I have a feeling she got fired weeks ago, but is too embarrassed to say anything."

"Huh." He paused. "I have a proposition for you."

"Sounds interesting."

"What are you doing tonight?"

"The same thing I do every night," she admitted.

"Try to take over the world?" he suggested, a hint of laughter nipping at his words.

"It both amuses and terrifies me that you used to watch that show." She smiled at the image of a younger Jess watching Saturday morning cartoons, wearing his favorite superhero shirt, a mop of dark hair covering his eyes. "What I meant was absolutely nothing."

"Wow. Exciting night life," he deadpanned. "You do realize that you're in New York City? There are museums to go to, stores to shop at, protesters to mock… the list goes on."

Rory smiled. "I'm sure."

"So, now you have an option. You can either sit at home, acting out the definition of pathetic, or you can come out with me."

Rory's jaw dropped in surprise. She would have given anything to know what he was thinking as he asked her to take a chance and see how much he had changed over the years apart.

"This is a tough choice," Rory said in what she hoped resembled an unconcerned tone. "What would coming out with you entail?"

"I'm not asking you out, Rory."

"I didn't – " She groaned, covering her face. "I didn't think you were. But I'm… "

"Just say yes."

Rory bit her lip, trying to imagine a night out with him. She couldn't remember a time when she and Jess were strictly friends without some larger possibility looming. When it came to them, there was no such thing as an innocent touch or meaningless gesture.

They were not ready for this. _She_ was not ready for this. "Okay."

She had no idea what she was doing.

"That's a yes?"

"That's a yes," she confirmed and gave him her address.

"Good. I'll drop by at seven."

She wanted to ask him why, if he had been thinking about this since the night before when he called. But she wasn't brave enough. "I have to get back to work. I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah. Bye, Rory."

She hung up and sighed. Two years did not mean that all of the residual anger and hurt was gone. Two years did not mean an automatic return to normalcy and a friendship either could handle. It _couldn't_. She didn't understand why they were fighting what logic told them.

"Miss Gilmore, are you in here?" A sudden voice called out, echoing against the tiles of the bathroom.

Startled, Rory jumped, and lost her grip on her cell phone. She watched as it sailed through the air, landing with a splash in the toilet bowl.

"Rory?" the voice asked again. "I know you're in here. I can see your feet."

Rory stomped her foot, nearly breaking her heel in two, and bent over the bowl, staring down at her drowning phone. "Present," she called out miserably.

"That was quite a display in there," Rob said, leaning back against the sink. "I think it's safe to say you won't be offered a job here after you graduate."

Rory could take constructive criticism; she thrived on it in a desire to better her performance. But Rob was downright caustic. He belittled her and made her feel as if her internship was phony, like she didn't deserve to be here. It drove her crazy.

"As long as it means not having to work with you again," she mumbled.

"What was that?" He left his perch and knocked on the stall door. Rory sprang into an upright position, and the sudden movement triggered the automatic flush.

"Oh no!" She watched in horror as her phone disappeared with the rest of the water.

"Is everything okay in there?" Rob asked, knocking again.

"Yes," she snapped.

"Come on out, Rory."

"I'm fine in here, thanks," she replied, wondering what would happen if she attempted to flood the toilet. Would her cell phone pop back out?

"Miss Gilmore, you're on the clock. I demand you come out."

"Don't 'Miss Gilmore' me," she hollered back, frustration giving her unprecedented courage. "Don't pretend you're superior to me, you're only thee years older!"

"I don't care how old you are, I _am_ your superior in this office, and you _will_ address me with respect. Now come on out here!"

"You address me as 'Miss Gilmore' around everyone else, but when we're alone you flirt with me. And the rest of the time, you're giving me the most mediocre jobs, and insulting me while doing it! I wish you'd stop being such an asshole!"

Rory spun around to face the door, her eyes wide with horror. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she tried to ignore the abject dread that overwhelmed her. She and Rob constantly butted heads, but she had always managed to skim that thin line between passive dislike and total disregard for authority.

She undid the lock, and the door swung open.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "That was… completely uncalled for."

Rob stared her down. "Just get back to work, Miss Gilmore."

"Right." As an afterthought, she added, "Sir."

-

Jess arrived at quarter after seven with two laundry bags full of dirty clothes. Rory frowned in her doorway, thoroughly confused.

"What's with the laundry?" she asked.

"Guess where we're going tonight."

"You're kidding!" She crossed her arms. "I thought we were going out."

"We are. Now, I'm sure you have some dirty clothes." When she remained silent, he continued, "Alright, go grab your roommate's. I'm sure she'll appreciate the favor."

Rory looked disgusted. "I'm not handling anything that touched her or her boyfriend's body!"

"Rory, just grab some kind of washable material."

She hesitated. "We're really going to a laundromat?"

Jess sighed. "Yes, we're really going to a laundromat."

"Right," Rory nodded as she unsuccessfully suppressed a twisted grin. "Because that's not the definition of pathetic."

Jess narrowed his eyes. "Just get your clothes."

-

Rory sorted her dirty clothes as Jess ransacked the coin machine. They had been there for only ten minutes, and already the outing was ebbing toward uncomfortable. Words from either were sporadic and unsuccessful in beginning a real conversation. Their limited speaking was acceptable for now, but as soon as the machines were loaded, there would be too much down time. She needed to do something. Fast.

"Quarters," Jess said, dropping a handful on the counter.

"Oh, yeah… good." She forced a smile. "Thanks."

Two women speaking in rapid Portuguese sat against the large store window, and in the back, a man knelt with his nose pressed to the dryer as he watched his clothes tumble back and forth. The lone employee had long ago disappeared for a prohibited smoking break. The emptiness of the laundromat was too much for Rory. She craved a crowd and chaos; anything to distract from the situation at hand.

"I flushed my cell phone today," Rory blurted out.

Jess set an empty basket onto the floor. "As in… flushed _flushed_?" He made an odd gesture with his hand, a product of disbelief and confusion.

"Yeah." She was blushing.

He pursed his lips together, wondering how offended she would be if he laughed. Maybe that was what she wanted – a small chuckle, something to break the ice. Or she could be nervous and spitting out random information. A couple of years ago, he would have acted on instinct, her feelings be damned. Now he just wanted to get through tonight without upsetting her.

"Any particular reason?" he asked carefully.

"Outrageous bills."

He nodded in understanding. "Very practical."

"I figured it was about time to switch cell phone providers anyway." She shrugged. "I've always wanted a phone endorsed by Ken Jennings."

"And you too can become a super genius with a freakish robotic memory," Jess recited in a patented TV announcer's voice.

Rory grinned. "That's the idea."

He began to load his clothes into a nearby machine, a flurry of band T-shirts whizzing by. She recognized many of them, despite the speed of his hands. There were familiar colors, bold logos, pictures of bands she knew he liked; some she could even remember wearing, bashfully grateful when he lent them to her.

"So…" She tested the obligatory word, the transition stiff and lifeless. She plunged on when he chose not to take the bait. "How do you like working at _Myers_?"

"I don't."

With a frown she asked, "You don't like it?"

"No," he corrected. "I don't work there."

Confused, she watched him dump a cup of laundry detergent into the machine. He closed the top, starting the cycle.

"I don't understand."

"I don't work at _Myers_," Jess said, as if this five word statement explained all. "How could I? After calling Dean bagboy for two years straight, I think the irony would actually kill me."

"Dean still works there," she mumbled off-hand, too preoccupied with Jess's job to hold her tongue.

"Seriously?" Jess tried to hide his grin for all of three seconds. "Wow. I suddenly feel much better about myself."

"_Jess_."

One word and the years peeled away, leaving him awkwardly seventeen. He didn't like this, the way time fluctuated between past and present when she was around. Sometimes he was certain he had not changed; nothing had.

"Explain," she ordered.

"The guy you met – Eric? – he has like four jobs. One of them is cashier at _Myers_. Whenever his hours conflict, he sends me in his place. I get some extra cash, and he doesn't get fired. Everybody wins."

"That's sweet."

Jess flinched. "Sweet? I'm not sure that's the right word."

"Fine. It's _nice_ that you're helping your friend out." She began to gather her clothes into a neat pile so she could begin her own load, when she froze. She had a death grip on a pair of pants as she looked over at Jess, her forehead creased in serious thought. "How often do you cover for him?"

"Once every couple of weeks." He shrugged. "Not that often, really. Why?"

"It's just…" She released the pants, pushing them back into the pile. "When we ran into each other, I happened to take a different route home. You happened to be working that day. I happened to be harassed by a singing cowboy – "

He cocked his head to the side. "Excuse me?"

"It's just this whole reunion thing was completely by chance," she continued, ignoring his comment. "Change one thing and it doesn't happen."

He didn't speak for a whole minute – she knew for sure, she counted each second in her head – but he wasn't still either. He stacked and unstacked the quarters in groups of four. She didn't stare at him, but at her laundry instead, under the pretense of sorting, and it was the discreetness, she figured, that made his silence easier. Without her gawking, there was less pressure to speak, almost as if he could pretend she hadn't mentioned anything at all.

"I'm glad it happened," he finally said.

She nodded in agreement, expecting nothing else from him, because really, that was enough.

-

"Wherever I end up after college, it will be in a place that has its own washer and dryer," Rory stated. She snuck a look at Jess and found his grin contagious.

"You're pathetic," he said.

She gasped, feigning offense. She was stretched out over three plastic chairs while Jess sat on the floor, against the wall. Her back was sore and her neck was stiff but she didn't want to move for fearing of ruining what she and Jess were sharing.

"It's a pain dragging laundry all around the city," she insisted.

"You're such a princess."

She scoffed. Jess thought it was a funny sound, brimming at the edge of haughtiness but not quite there. He wondered if that was the way she was now – a rich socialite with her nose permanently fixed in the air. He had trouble picturing her like that, but there was no way he could know for sure. She had always been a bit on the selfish side, and with enough influence from her grandparents and Yale, she could be molded into anything. When he had dated her back in high school, he had foolishly thought that maybe he was saving her from that.

"Don't insult me," she warned but she smiled as she said it, inviting more.

At the sound of the dryer's buzzer, she jumped up and trotted over to fold her clothes. Jess followed close behind.

"You should just have your laundry sent out," he suggested. "You could hire a maid."

She took out a pair of jeans but hissed when her fingers brushed the hot metal of the zipper. "That certainly sounds nice," she said, throwing the pants on top of the dryer and rooting inside for something less dangerous to fold, "But somehow, I doubt I'll be able to afford something that extravagant."

"What about your grandmother?" he asked, testing the waters. He wanted to push this, just a little bit. He wanted to know who she was now, if her values had changed since entering high society.

"Grandma," she pouted. "I know you paid for my high school and college education, but could you please hire me a maid? I'd like a penthouse too, if you don't mind. Please," she continued, "keep me in the lifestyle I'm accustomed to."

Jess snorted. "All that sarcasm from such a small girl."

"I don't need my grandparents paving the way for me," she said. "I don't need personal favors to get by. I'm going to do fine on my own."

"I know." He grabbed her discarded jeans and folded them, setting them on top of her growing pile.

She leaned forward on her elbows, sighing. Jess froze, unsure if she was frustrated or tired.

"How are we doing this?" she asked.

"Doing what?"

"This!" She shot up like a bottle rocket, animated with an unidentifiable emotion. "How are you and I having a normal conversation? How are we here, right now, speaking, and not yelling or glaring or inflicting bodily harm?"

"So far, we've avoided doing that."

"Doing what?" she demanded, flustered.

"Bringing it up," he said. "Yelling."

She stared down at her hands, resting flat against the dryer. He heard her take an unsteady breath and prepared himself for the worst. "I never forgave you."

He stifled a sigh, unhappy that she had exhumed something he was hoping they'd get past. This had been going so well.

"It's fine," he said quietly. "I never forgave you either."

-

He walked her to her apartment even after she said it was unnecessary. The conversation had died after their respective confessions, and she didn't need that disconcerting silence following her home. But he had insisted.

She held her laundry bag close to her chest, nearly obstructing her view of the sidewalk. When he asked if she wanted to stop for a cup of coffee, her polite refusal was muffled by the bag.

"So that's it?" he asked as they turned onto her street. She was surprised at the question; her building was in sight and she thought the night was over.

"What?" She lowered her laundry bag, just a bit.

"We brought up what happened, so now we're back to not speaking."

"I never said – "

"You knew this wasn't okay, Rory." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led to her building. "So why the silence?"

She should never have agreed to this night in the first place. She could see that now. "I have to go, Jess. I have an early morning."

She swept past him and trotted up the stairs. Dropping her bag to the ground, she pulled out her keys and stuck them in the door. Looking over her shoulder, she expected to see him standing on the sidewalk, wordlessly asking her to come back. Instead, there was only his hazy outline as he crossed the street, walking away from her and all the things left unsaid.


End file.
